Grant Comes East - Civil War 02 (53 page)

He put his hat back on and crossed the stream, falling back in with the Army of Northern Virginia as it marched on through the night

Chapter Eigh
teen

Near
Strasburg,
Pennsylvania

August
19,1863 7:00
a.m.

T
ell General Lee all that you've seen here. Remember, if they start to close in, don't hesitate to destroy the dispatches. Now ride!"

Wade Hampton watched as the half-dozen couriers galloped off into the morning mist.

It had been a running battle throughout the night Just before dusk he had been hit by three devastating pieces of news, one on top of the other. The first was that the Yankees, flanking wide, had cut across the Conestoga River a half-dozen miles above and below his line and were pincering in. The second, that a brigade of their cavalry having moved the night before on a wide sweep, a fifty-mile ride to his north and around Reading, was falling onto his rear. The third, that his way out, the river crossing, had already been cut by cavalry now joined by a brigade of infantry, which had been moved down by rail from Harrisburg to Columbia. Additional units were blocking every other ford. He wasn't facing a lone regiment, or even a brigade of experienced troopers. He was facing an entire division of cavalry backed by infantry, and they were good, damn good, the best he had ever seen.

The morale of his men, so high and exuberant just the morning before, was beginning to crumble. Word had filtered through the ranks that their comrades with the First North Carolina had been cut off somewhere up toward Reading and wiped out. A prisoner released by Grierson just before dawn had come riding in, confirming the news, and bringing with him an offer of honorable surrender.

Like hell! If need be, he'd ride clear to the outskirts of

Philadelphia, shake them off during that long ride, then turn about and sweep down to the river. All his men had been ordered to pull in remounts and to move, to keep moving. These damn Yankees from the West might ride through Mississippi, but they were facing Wade Hampton now. He would damn well give them the ride of a lifetime, drive them clear into exhaustion, then leave them in his dust "Let's go," he shouted.

Even as the rattle of carbine fire sounded in the west he set off, heading east toward Christiana. It was in the exact opposite direction of where he had hoped to go, but that was finished for now. The race was on.

Washington,
D.C. The
White
House

August
19,1863 7:00
am.

He
's done what?" Incredulous, Abraham Lincoln looked at Elihu Washburne, who was holding a sheaf of dispatches in his hand.

"Yesterday morning, just before dawn, General Sickles started to move the entire Army of the Potomac across the Susquehanna. I passed through there late yesterday, asked by General Grant to look at the situation myself and then report to you, Mr. President."

"Merciful heavens," Lincoln sighed. "I don't know how much mercy is involved in this one, Mr. President I will confess, it was one hell of a show, what little I saw of it; massed bands, rations being handed out like there was no tomorrow. It was a regular circus. As I was leaving on the courier boat the Fifth Corps was embarking, with the Sixth lined up to follow."

"We've had no word from Perryville since yesterday, all courier boats stopped," th
e president commented inexasper
ation.

"General Sickles ordered a shutdown of all traffic; he claimed it was for security reasons, but I daresay it was to keep you and Grant in the dark as long as possible as well. I was able to get a boat because no one was willing to face me down on the issue, but it was a damn slow boat and took hours longer to get here."

"Shrewd move by Sickles," Lincoln sighed. "Does Grant know of this?"

"I would assume he does by now, but he didn't know about it when I left him."

"Did he order it? Perhaps after you left?"

"Absolutely not. He asked me to convey to you the usual correspondence you two have maintained over the last month. He was optimistic when I left him. Supplies are still coming in; he's still short of wagons and pontoon bridging; he's still waiting for some additional men; for example, that colored division, but things were going on schedule up until this thing with Sickles broke loose. Yes, he's aware that Lee is in front of Washington, but not overly concerned. As we discussed last month, Baltimore will force Lee to stay in Maryland, and Washington will serve as the bait for him to try an attack, most likely under pressure from Davis."

"Davis is no longer with the Army of Northern Virginia," Lincoln replied.

"Sir?"

Lincoln smiled and tossed over a copy of the
Richmond Enquirer.
Elihu scanned the front page and the report that the rebel president was back in the Confederate capital after a successful tour of the front.

"Why do you think he pulled out?" Elihu asked.

"That, my friend, is indication enough that Lee's move on Washington was a feint. Davis would never have left if an attack was pending that could have given him the glory of riding up here to the White House to take possession. No, he's back in Richmond, because Lee is not going to try to fight his way into Washington."

"But why?'

"Pressure in Tennessee, perhaps. Sherman will link up with Rosecrans within the week."

"
And”

“
As you know, General Grant will put Sherman in command there. Maybe word of that leaked. Perhaps his leaving is a cagey politician's instinct not to be here if Lee should suffer a defeat. Besides, with the weakness of Confederate communications, it was most likely impossible for him to run the government from a hundred and fifty miles away. But whatever the motive, it was proof enough to me that some of our people have been overreacting to the sight of rebel banners in front of Fort Stevens.

"Besides, to confirm it all, reports are coming in now from Heintzelman. The rebels abandoned their position during the night"

"Now, that is news."

"I'm surprised you didn't hear of it on the way over from the navy yard."

"I took a carriage; my driver didn't say a word."

It struck Elihu how information was now so fragmented. Grant had no idea at this moment about the abandonment of the Washington front by Lee; Lincoln only this moment knew about Sickles's move. Damn it, most likely the only one who knew what was really going on was Lee, yet again.

"Another deserter came into the lines just after midnight," Lincoln continued. "Claimed the entire line was abandoned."

"One would think nearly all those deserters were nothing more than plants by Lee. Two days ago they were affirming the big attack was about to begin."

"I felt the same way," Lincoln replied. "Though most of those gold-encrusted popinjays over at the War Office hang on every word said by each deserter who comes in. This rebel though, I'm told, was a boy from Kentucky, sick of the war, just wants to go home. He said that at midmorning the entire army started to move, the last of them pulling out around nine last night So our General Heintzelman sent over a patrol around three this morning and they reported the entire line is empty except for a few detachments of cavalry busy stoking campfires. Lee has slipped off."

"And is now heading straight toward Sickles."

Lincoln sighed and nodded.

"I don't understand any of this at the moment," Lincoln said. "Yesterday there was dang near a panic in this city with the shelling, everyone, including Stanton, telling me that Lee would attack come nightfall. And now this."

"I think, sir, we've been humbugged."

"What?"

"Just that. Humbugged, sir, Lee knew his game and played it. He didn't dare attack directly. Yes, he might have taken the city, but he would have lost twenty, thirty thousand doing it. And then Grant, as we've talked about so many times, would have come sweeping down to finish him off. All along the two of you agreed that Washington and Baltimore would be the bait for the trap. Keep Lee in Maryland until Grant was ready with an overwhelming force to cross the Susquehanna and then finish him.

"It was a bold gambit on your part and you played it well. Not leaving the city, to hell with all the traitors an
d naysay
ers up north. In fact, this city being cut off was a blessing to you, and you stayed."

"But this move by Sickles?"

"The man saw his chance. In the end he is no different than McClellan, Halleck, McClernand out west, Butler, all the others. They might be loyal, though at times I had my doubts about McClellan."

"Don't speak too harshly of him," Lincoln replied. "When ordered to resign, he did so."

"And even now is maneuvering to run against you on a peace ticket next year. But as to Sickles. Look at it from his side. The Army of the Potomac, God bless them, was finished as a fighting unit after Union Mills. But those boys, after two years of bitter defeat, will not easily concede that they need Grant and his Westerners to help them now. Sickles played on that With Hampton raiding and cutting the telegraph lines, with Lee making all appearances that he was about to make his grand assault on Washington, even though you doubted it as did Grant, Sickles saw his chance and grabbed for it. He wants a final showdown with Lee, and he thinks he can win this war on his own. Then he can run for president as the victory candidate, the man who saved the Union when you had failed." "Damn it."

Lincoln slammed his fist on his desk, a display of temper so rare that it stunned Elihu. Lincoln looked up at him, hollow-eyed.

"Just once, just for once, can't we act together? We all have the same goal, I daresay even General Lee does, though the results he desires are different. We want this war to end. And yet we always seem to be working at cross-purposes to each other. If only Sickles had kept his horses reined in, if he had but waited one more month, he and Grant could have advanced together, working in unison to see it through."

Elihu smiled sadly.

"You are talking idealistically, sir, when we should be talking about the realities of running a republic."

Lincoln sighed and sat down. Picking up a pencil, he twirled it absently as he looked out his office window.

"We politicians are divided into two types in this war, in any war," Elihu said. "The majority, though they might proclaim that the dream of the republic motivates them at heart, are ultimately swayed by the advantage they can gain for themselves. They will proclaim to their followers that the good of the republic is the sole cause for their actions, and many will then follow.

"The second type, God save us, like you and Grant, are so rare. You two actually do wish to see this ideal, this dream, survive, and would give your lives for it without hesitation. Never confuse the two. I think it will always be thus, a hundred, a hundred and fifty years from now, if we survive; there will still be men and women who will proclaim their love of the republic, perhaps even believe it, but at heart are in it only for their own power.

"There is much of Sickles I like. He's a damn good general in his own right, but ultimately he is blinded by the light, the power, the dream that he can be the savior of this cause, and therefore he marched off yesterday morning, either to glory or disaster. But in either case, he will always say it was to save the republic."

"Stanton," Lincoln whispered.

"Sir?"

"It was Edwin who was behind this." Elihu nodded sagely.

"He could not accept my removal of Halleck. He felt I stepped on his toes in that. Halleck as well had poisoned him about Grant. Stanton was all aflutter over Lee being in front of the city again, now reinforced by Beauregard. I think in some way he must have goaded Sickles into action."

"That's what I was thinking as well, sir."

Lincoln sighed again, rubbing his eyes after yet another sleepless night.

"Is there any hope of recalling Sickles?" Lincoln asked.

Elihu shook his head.

"All three of his corps are across the river by now, moving on Baltimore. Lee, as you just told me, is storming north to meet him. I think by late today they will meet. All I can say is, let's pray that Sickles somehow proves himself, though politically that worries me."

"How so?"

"If he wins, if he defeats Lee in an open fight, sir, his next conquest will be your office. He wants to be president."

Lincoln laughed softly and shook his head.

"By God, Elihu. If he does win, if he ends this war, I'll gladly give it to him as a prize. I'll do anything at this point to see an end to the killing as long as the Union is saved."

Near
Gunpowder
Falls,
Maryland

August
19,
1863 10:00
a.m.

Th
e day was hot. The sun had risen a dark-red orb, promising yet another August day of sweltering heat for Maryland. It was now more than halfway up the midmorning sky. Dan Sickles took off his hat and wiped his brow.

The men marching past, his old Third Corps veterans, had rested well during the night He had balanced the odds of calling a halt to the march. Press on and force-march into Baltimore, but then his men would be exhausted, or let them get six hours' rest, a hot breakfast so that if action did come they'd be fresh.

It was a hard decision, balancing one factor against another, and balancing what Lee might do or not do. For Lee to disengage from Washington, turn around and march north, would have taken all of yesterday. Moving one man, of course, was the simplest task in the world, but fifty thousand, with rations, ammunition, artillery, supply wagons, ambulances; even the best trained units would take the better part of a day to disengage, form up, and then put the head in front of the tail. If Lee was deployed for an assault on the capital, the roads for miles to the rear would be clogged with supply wagons.

Then, on the other hand, he just might fling himself north and thus exhaust himself, and if so, his men would have the edge yet again, having rested and eaten.

He had to wait for the Sixth to come up. If he advanced too quickly, with all his men and supplies funneling through the one river crossing, his army would be strung out across twenty-five miles of road. He wanted them compact ready to go in as a single force, and thus one other reason for waiting six precious hours.

Though he had been part of the old Meade crowd, Sickl
es had given the Sixth to Gouvern
eur Warren. The man had conducted himself well in the Gettysburg campaign, was popular with his command, and had a tremendous eye for ground. Warren had reported that it would not be until mid-morning before the old Sixth would be fully across the river and deployed to march. Behind them would come a thousand wagons and more, which would be infuriatingly slow in moving, as always. Though Stoneman had assured him that his small cavalry force would protect the flank, it would be just like Stuart to try and cut in and wipe out this crucial supply link, thus stalling his advance, making him dependent on the navy to move supplies into the various ports along the Chesapeake Bay. That would be a logistical nightmare when it came to cross-service cooperation, especially with everything based upon speed, speed that he planned to make the most of today.

Coming up over a low crest, riding near the head of his column, Sickles reined in, shading his eyes, scanning the land to the south. Downtown Baltimore was less than fifteen miles away. They had covered over half the distance. Several of his staff, who had climbed into a tree, were exclaiming that they thought they could see the church spires of the city.

The call went up for the advancing column to halt, the usual ten-minute break after fifty minutes of marching. Two miles an hour, if the roads were good, the center of Baltimore by late afternoon, a triumph in and of itself. And not a rebel in sight, except for the distant screen of gray cavalry that drew back a step with each step of his advance. There was the occasional pop of a carbine, skirmishers firing at long range, but Stuart did not seem intent on holding him back.

Curious. Usually there'd be a fight for each ford, each bridge, if still intact. The countryside was peaceful, civilians out lining the road, some friendly, reporting that the rebel cavalry had run like cowards, others sullen, just watching, saying nothing.

The only wrinkle—the first courier had come up an hour ago with the report that Ely Parker from Grant's headquarters had crossed the river at Perryville and even now was riding to meet him. His people would, as ordered, "lose" Ely, dragging him about in a frantic search to find the commander of the Army of the Potomac to no avail. By the time Ely found him, he'd be into the city, and there was no way in hell that Grant would then order him to retire.

It was a good day for a march and perhaps a bloodless retaking of Baltimore. Lighting a cigar, he fell back in along the road, empty for the moment of troops, and rode forward, the men raising a cheer as he passed.

Baltimore,
Maryland

August
19,1863 10:00
a.m.

The e
ndless, relentless column of Longstreet's corps flowed along the roads into the western edge of the city. The men had covered nearly thirty miles in just under twenty-four hours, and the exhaustion was showing. In the last few hours straggling had increased; old men, young boys, seasoned soldiers, pale-faced from diarrhea, a stomach complaint, or lung illness, were now falling out. Unlike Jackson, he felt some slight pity for these men, especially after their nightlong march, and he had ordered his provost guards to deal lightly with them, to give out passes and tell them to fall back in when they were able.

Longstreet reined in, watching as a regiment of boys from Georgia flowed by. Marching order had broken down during the night, the neatly formed columns of fours replaced by a surge of movement, men jumbled together, most with rifles slung over shoulders, the roadside now Uttered with backpacks, blanket rolls, strange booty picked up over the last month and now tossed aside. Quilts, books, surprisingly a box of cigars, a clock, newspapers most likely hoarded not as reading material but for more practical purposes, a brass candelabra, a woman's silk dress, a framed painting of a ship, cooking pots, the usual decks of cards and whiskey bottles, all of it littering the side of the road as they passed. Nearly all were stripped down now to just musket, cartridge box, canteen. They kept on coming, most exhausted beyond caring, some with a fire still in their eyes, for the Army of Northern Virginia was on the march and there was a battle ahead. Most regimental commanders had passed the order that the men could strip down in the heat, so uniform jackets were slung over shoulders, revealing white cotton shirts long since gone to dirty, sweat-soaked gray. Men who had stripped off their shoes in the countryside now grimaced as they marched over cobblestones, cursing, of course, when they hit horse and mule droppings.

A courier came up, shouting, "General Longstreet!" Ven-able guided the man in, a trooper with Stuart.

"What's the word?" Longstreet asked.

"Sir, General Stuart begs to report that the Yankees are advancing again. They stopped just after two in the morning."

"I know that; when did they start to move again?"

"Sir, their Third Corps has come out of Abingdon; their Fifth Corps, which stopped at around three, is now advancing out of Bel Air. They fell back in just before eight or so."

Longstreet smiled.

He had stolen a march on the Yankees, his men moving over thirty miles to Sickles's twelve to fourteen. He shook his head even as he smiled. In spite of the Yankee general's bombast in the papers, he was keeping to their usual pace, but of course that could change; there was a slightly unpredictable element to Sickles, in spite of General Lee's confidence in dealing with the man.

He looked at his men streaming by. He would prefer to give them a few hours' rest now, for the day ahead promised to be scorching hot and the few hundred he had lost so far to straggling could swell into the thousands by mid
-
afternoon, but his orders were clear, his destination clear.

He looked over at Venable.

"Get one of our boys with a fast horse to report this to General Lee. You know where to find him. Send another rider back to General Stuart and tell him that we are coming up fast and he should execute the plans that General Lee ordered. A courier to Pickett as well that he should know his orders and engage in the appropriate manner."

It was going to be an interesting day, a most interesting day.

One
Half
Mile
South
of
Gunpowder
Falls,
Maryland

August
19,1863 Noon

Je
b Stuart, hat off, the heat intense, trotted over to the light horse batteries that were drawn up across the road looking down toward the Gunpowder River. On the far bank, several Union batteries were deploying. His own guns were already at work, shelling the Union guns. The skirmish line of dismounted troopers, pushing forward, was thickening as he committed his reserves from Jenkins's and Fitz Lee's old brigades. The men were confident, with casualties so far light. They knew the game they were about to play, and they would play it with relish.

Chew's, Hart's, and Griffin's Maryland batteries were hard at work shelling the opposite slope and the approach down the gentle slope to the Gunpowder River. To add additional punch, a heavy twenty-pounder battery of Parrott guns, captured and kept in reserve at Baltimore, had come up as well, their deeper, throaty roar distinctive on the battlefield. On the opposite slope regiments of Yankee infantry were deploying out into battle lines, ready to surge forward and charge the valley.

He was relishing the moment Independent command, far ahead of Lee and the infantry, a holding action, their old enemy in front of them again. This was going to be interesting.

The first regimental volley sounded, a Yankee regiment on the far bank of the stream letting fly at long range at his own troopers in skirmish line. The men saw the puff of smoke, dived for the ground; several were hit but the rest stood up and pushed forward to the bank looking down on the stream. The battle was beginning to unfold.

He looked back down the road toward Baltimore. Pickett was supposed to have come out just after dawn. Lee did not want to spring the trap too soon, so this would take careful timing. And yes, in the distance he could see the dust boiling up on the road; the infantry support was coming.

Gunpowder
Falls,
Maryland